


who i am

by Areiton



Series: in the cold, we find warmth [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Tony Stark, Recovered Memories, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:06:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: “Do you know who I am?”The drone is quiet. Watching. His throat  is sore from screaming. His eyes are gritty, lack of sleep makes his fingers shake, and he wants, desperately, to run.“Yes,” it answers, simply.





	who i am

“Why here?” he asks, when he finally stops. He’s been moving, traveling for almost a week--train and plane and a car so rickety he thought his teeth would vibrate out of his skull, but every time he stopped, the drone and  _ that voice _ was waiting, patient, quietly delivering orders and they were never more than he could bear. 

“Because you are the last place they’d look.” 

He considers that. Evade detection. This--this follows mission protocals, and his unknown handler is patient, waiting for him to respond. 

He doesn’t, not with words. Just slips quietly into the house and closes door on the cold behind him. 

~*~ 

The house is--

“This is not a safe house,” he says, flatly, after doing a thorough inspection. 

“It is,” his drone insists and he gives it a look. “It’s a house. And you’re safe. What more do you want?” 

He ignores that and goes to one of the interior rooms, and curls on the floor, tucked in shadows. The drone perches nearby and he says, sleepily. “Wake me--” 

“I will,” it answers, softly. “Go to sleep, Jamie.” 

~*~ 

The house, he discovers, is  _ exceedingly _ safe. There is a full stocked kitchen, a modest gym, six opulent bedrooms, an abundance of bathrooms. 

And a panic room with armory and a--an Ironman suit stand in the corner of the room, eyes dim and unseeing and for the first time, Jamie wonders who his unseen handler is. 

~*~ 

“What is this place?” 

“Bought it a few years ago from a Russian friend. I thought about bringing Pep, but she doesn’t do vacations after that time in Monaco. And then she stopped doing  _ me _ so--well. Anyway. Little used vacation house. Sometimes the corporate bigwigs stay there.” 

His drone likes to talk, rambling incessant while Jamie cooks and runs on the treadmill. It falls silent, always, when he reads, though, and it makes him ache, a bone deep longing for the quiet of the dirty rooms in Budapest, and his stacks of books there. 

He is safe, he reminds himself. Safe and fed and his mind a tumbling chaos he is slow to understand. 

He tries to believe that is enough. 

~*~ 

He writes. 

Tiny cramped script in a journal that is delivered with a stack of thick books. He writes his dreams in them, writes the flashes that feels like memories, writes about the man on the bridge who he can’t forget and the handlers who make his hands tremble. He writes about the chair, and a seemingly endless list that he can’t look at without wanting to cry. 

He doesn’t know if it helps--but he writes. 

~*~ 

“Do you know who I am?” 

The drone is quiet. Watching. His throat  is sore from screaming. His eyes are gritty, lack of sleep makes his fingers shake, and he wants, desperately, to run. 

“Yes,” it answers, simply. 

“Then why are you  _ helping _ me?” he demands, and his voice cracks. Tears are hot and thick in his throat, choking him. 

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand anything. 

“Because I know who you are,” it answers, gently. “And you aren’t what they made you.” 

He breaks, sobs, curled in on himself on a marble floor in Moscow, and his drone perches above him, watching, patient, guarding. 

~*~ 

“Who am I?” he asks. 

“Jamie.” The drone answers, promptly. 

“A prisoner of war.” 

“Steve Roger’s best friend.” 

“A good man.” 

“Someone I care about.” 

~*~ 

He doesn’t always believe it, his drone. 

But he can hear the honesty in that warm voice, and he knows this--

It has never hurt him, has only ever tried to protect and care for him. 

He doesn’t always believe it. 

But he tries. 

~*~ 

“What happens, next?” he asks. It’s one of his good days, a day when memories and grief recede enough that he can function. 

“What do you want, Jamie?” the drone asks, and he frowns. Because he is still uncomfortable with choice, with having desire and the ability to express it. A flash of fear and never-forgotten pain makes him stumble. 

“Shh, shh, it’s ok. Options: you take the go bag I pack, and you vanish. Rebuild your life and never see me or Steve, or any of the bastards who did this to you. Or, I call Cap and tell him where you are and you rekindle your epic bromance.” 

He wrinkles his nose, shakes his head. A laugh ghosts from his drone. “You come in from the cold. I keep it under wraps and we figure out what you want. Together.” 

That sparks warmth in his gut, and he stirs, lifts his head to look at his drone. “You? I could come to you?” 

There’s a long, breathless pause, and then, “Yeah,” it says, almost hoarse. “Yeah, Jamie. You can always come to me.” 

He smiles, and nods. “I want that.” 

~*~ 

It is terrifying, to admit he  _ wants. _

But for the first time, it’s not because he’s afraid of punishment. 

~*~ 

He is packing when he asks, nervous, and for the first time. “What is your name?” 

The drone shifts, and a nervous laugh fills the room. “Why?” 

He shrugs, and says, “Because you know who I am. And what. I want to know who you are.” 

It goes unspoken that he knows what. 

A good man. A kind man. A man that Jamie trusts, a man who will protect him. Always. He doesn’t understand why. 

“Tony,” the drone says, softly. “My name is Tony Stark.” 

His fingers hitch, just a little, and he smiles. A teasing little thing. Zips his bag closed and salutes the drone. The bug out protocol has been drilled into his head, something the drone-- _ Tony-- _ went over with an almost obsessive paranoia. 

“See you in three days,” Tony says, and there’s a note of eagerness in his voice. 

~*~ 

Jamie slips into the little battered truck and looks at the book. It’s packed with tiny written scraps of memories, half of them things he wishes he could forget. 

And a list of names. 

All seared into his brain. 

_ Howard Stark  _

_ Maria Stark _

He brushes a rough hand over his face, smearing the tears away, and starts the truck. He’s supposed to drive to the train station, catch a train to Minsk and a private jet to New York. 

He licks his lips, and drives past the train station.

Tony is a good man. Too good for him. 

He runs. 

 


End file.
